


Lookout, Lookout

by VeteranKlaus



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers for Danny's murderer, season 1 episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 01:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20350333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: What if Alec was alone when he went to the boathouse?





	Lookout, Lookout

His office door slides open and someone lets themselves in. His patience and temper's all but gone, what with the issue of the damn dog and their main witness refusing to talk without her pet. He turns to look up at the officer, eyes sharp behind his glasses. A migraine had been steadily building behind his eyes and he had been trying his best to ignore it.

"Tell me you've found the bloody dog," he asks before he can open his mouth. His eyebrows draw together, and then he shakes his head and tries to speak again. Alec interrupts him without fault. "Then I don't bloody care - we need the dog, she won't talk unless we find the dog-"

"Sir," says the officer, sharply. "There's been a break-in at the boathouse. Someone just reported seeing light from inside it." 

That catches his attention. The rant that had been building up in him dies in his throat, and he tears his glasses off, dropping them on his desk, and his chair groans as it scrapes suddenly across the ground. "Why didn't you tell me that first?" He seethes, shoving his arms through his jacket. "Is anyone there yet?"

"No, sir. I thought to tell you first," he says. Alec stops in his steps, dumbfounded as he glares at the idiotic officer.

"My God - if the murderer's there, don't _wait_!" He snaps. "It'll take too long. Phone Miller, tell her to meet me there, and get backup on the way!" He yells over his shoulder, and then he's out, stress and migraine forgotten.

###

He's the first on scene, a torch in his hand illuminating the steep pathway. His breathing's laboured, but with adrenaline pumping through him he doesn't pay much attention to how easily a walk up a steep hill could do him in. His blood rushes in his ears. There's no light on in the boathouse anymore, but he would have seen anyone coming down. They're around. Danny Latimer's killer is sure to be just up this hill, hiding around the house. 

He powers on, knowing backup is only five minutes away. Ellie's probably only at the bottom of the hill, too, but he doesn't risk turning and looking for her. 

He eyes the path beneath his feet. Footsteps, sure enough, mar the ground. A large foot, and he wonders why the murderer returned. He hadn't left a trace of evidence. He does a lap of the boathouse, looking inside the windows and looking around the outside of it, and then he stands back in front of the doors. They have to be inside, avoiding his gaze. He places a hand on the door handle, and then makes the mistake of checking over his shoulder to see if Ellie or any backup is nearby. 

The door gets thrown open and he almost falls over. He recovers in time to see a tall man sprinting back down the hill, and the pain in his chest be damned, Alec follows. 

They're fast. His eyes take in every part of him, trying to identify or remember him. He's tall, and of average build. He doesn't run like an athlete, but he runs fast, long legs eating the ground beneath him. He's fully clad in black clothing, a hood hiding his face, and he doesn't say a thing or reveal his face. He launches himself at a fence, and so does Alec, scrambling over it with his heart pounding beneath his ribcage.

He shouldn't be running like this and he knows it. He knows the dangers of exerting himself when his heart can hardly take a brisk walk up a flight of stairs, and chasing a murderer is out of the question. He's not about to stop, though, as they enter the boatyard, and he speeds up. He can hear sirens in the distance, too far away. But there's headlights closer to his left, and he hopes it's Ellie. Nausea rises in his throat. 

The murderer skids, turning around a boat, and Alec's hand grabs the sleeve of his jacket, yanking him back just before he can get away. They both stagger, and Alec tries to push him against the boat and pull his hands behind his back so he can cuff them together, but he lashes out, kicks out and catches his knee. Alec's grip loosens and he's running again, and the Scot growls breathlessly, hands scrabbling against the boat beside his side for purchase. 

His chest hurts. He ignores it, pushing off his feet and running again. He won't let another murderer walk away. He can't.

His fingers brush his hood. They curl into the fabric and yank him back, yank the hood down, and the man ducks out of his grip, pulls it up, then whirls around, eyes wide with fear, but all Alec knows now is that he's bald. With the fear of truly being caught, or of being seen by Alec, he turns from running away to fighting, throwing a fist that catches Alec's jaw and makes him bite open his lip. They're a mess of fists, and Alec can't breathe, the world twisting around them and the pain and weight on his chest suddenly blossoms out, and it feels as if his heart, running faster than himself, slams into a brick wall. He freezes, and a sound escapes his lips as the pain immediately increases to unbearable levels. His knees disappear beneath him and his left arm feels useless, and he thinks he sees the murderer falter at his cry. His hand grasps the murderer's arm as if he might help him, and the murderer just stands in shock, gripping Alec. Distantly, Alec notes that he doesn't want to fight. 

Alec throws his arm out, hooks his fingers in the scarf around his face, and yanks it down. 

Joe Miller stares back at him, wide eyed, terrified, and _no._

Ellie's husband, the man he dined with days ago, shakes him so the back of his head hits the boat they were nearby, and he crumples instantly. 

He can't breathe. He gasps for air but it seems as if a band's been tied around his ribs, growing tighter each time he tries to fight for breath. His fingers scratch pathetically at his collar and his tie, though he cant really feel it beneath his fingertips. 

He knew he shouldn't have been running like he was. All he can think about, however, is how the murderer got away, and how no one else is around, and how the murderer is Joe Miller.

His body twitches, convulses as if he's able to run away from the pain. His vision turns as dark as the night sky above him. 

He knew his heart was bad. He knew it was getting worse, realistically knew that the next step was a heart attack, but he had never really acknowledged that. And now he's lying on his back in the dark, alone, and he's going to die without getting the Latimer's justice. 

###

Stepping outside and wandering the hallway when her dad phoned her, Ellie missed the initial alert of the light in the boathouse. When she went back inside, Alec had already left after yelling at one of their coworkers. She's irritated at the fact that no one came to find her, for she's already wasted precious time, especially if that is the murderer at the boathouse, but she just has to trust that Hardy's waited responsibly for backup, and it'll be fine.

She doesn't trust him in that decision, though, so she hurries. 

Backup's there by the time she gets there, and they're combing over the boathouse, with its door wide open and footsteps denting the dirt around it. Alec and the murderer's nowhere to be seen.

"Where are they?" She asks, looking around. 

"Not seen anyone around here, ma'am," says a younger officer. "They weren't here when we arrived. We think they went down that way, but we're checking the boathouse over, too."

Ellie presses her lips together, then nods and sets off. The torch in her hand lights the place up, and she digs a hand into her pocket to find her phone. She and Hardy exchanged numbers earlier in the case, purely for work purposes and organising that one dinner at hers, and her thumb hovers over the call button.

Something feels wrong. She can't quite place it, but her gut tells her that something is horribly wrong, and her stomach twists with dread and anticipation. There's no one around, nor did they see anyone when they were driving towards the house. Even down by the boatyard, she can't see nor hear anyone. 

The gates to the boatyard, though, are out of place, a sign kicked off onto the floor, and there's a scuff mark on the opposite side. She opens the gates with some difficulty, and when Alec doesn't reply to her calling for him, she presses down on the call button.

Her stomach twists when she hears it. In amongst the boats, ringing endlessly, and her feet carry her towards it. "Sir?" She calls out. There's no response. The phone continues to ring. She can hear officers coming behind her. She rounds a boat, and there, lying lifelessly on his back, is Alec. She staggers in shock before rushing forwards, cancelling the call and falling to her knees. 

The first thing that comes to mind is that he's been stabbed. The murderer had a knife, or some other weapon, and they got into a tussle and the murderer got the upper hand and Alec's been bleeding out, waiting for help to come. She expects to see him lying in a pool of his own blood, with a knife hilt-deep in his stomach, or perhaps in his chest, or even in his throat. That's not what she sees. There is blood, but not enough for a stab wound, and it pools around his head instead, dripping down the boat beside him. She reaches for him and taps his cheek before realising that he's not breathing, and then she presses her fingers to his neck. There's no pulse. She acts quickly. 

"Ambulance!" She yells, looking around. "Paramedics! We have an officer down!" Her voice strains as she yells, and she's pulling off his tie, taking out the first couple buttons of his shirt, and leaning over him so she can place her hands on his chest and start compressions. She alternates between breaths and compression, and it's only when she pauses and feels a heartbeat and sees him breathe by himself that she sits back down on her knees, her hands shaking, and she curses him out. He doesn't open his eyes, or she doesn't see him do so.

The paramedics arrive too slowly. She fears that she's going to have to restart chest compressions because they take so long and Alec's clearly hardly hanging on, his breathing laboured, sharp and short, and his heartbeat unsteady, weak and thready. The only sound he makes is the unintentional rasp of his breathing, and he hardly does so much as twitch his fingers. Ellie's bundled a towel taken from one of the cars beneath his head, pressing it to the wound on the back of his head. Surely the hit wasn't what killed him? 

He's whisked away in flashing lights, and Ellie has to remind herself that she's got a job to do. Obviously Alec had gotten close to the murderer, and perhaps he had even seen them; they would need to wait until later, when she could visit him in the hospital tomorrow morning. For now, she tried to ignore the blood staining her knees and her hands. Everyone's muttering, talking amongst one another with worry. 

"No murderer?" She asks weakly. 

An officer shakes her head. "Got away."

Ellie almost drops her head into her hands, had they not been stained red.

###

White greets him agonisingly brightly when he opens his eyes, and an unintentional groan slips past his lips as he squeezes his eyes shut. There's some shuffling and then the sound of curtains being dragged, and when he opens his eyes again, it's blessedly darker. He's in a hospital, he gathers easily, and he feels like shit. His entire left side feels weak, his chest as if someone was sitting on him, and his head ached distantly.

Ellie was sitting beside him. "Bastard," she greets when she realises he's awake.

"What?" He replies, voice rough, ragged. The word isn't properly articulated.

"You fucking died on me."

"Oh." He looks away from her. Heart attack, he remembers. The head wound probably didn't help matters. His eyes narrow and slide back to Ellie. "Why're there grapes?"

Ellie looks a little smug as she says; "I bought them. I hoped you'd choke on the seeds."

Alec scrutinises them. "They're seedless," he states.

"Fuck off."

It almost brings a smile to his face. Almost. Urgency grips him, and he sits up. Tries to. It's a bad choice because it leaves him aching and swallowing back bile, and with Ellie cursing at him to sit back down. "The murderer," he gasps, hands curling into the sheets. He looks at her, desperate eyes wide. _Please._

Ellie shakes her head sadly. "They got away," she says. "Did you see them? Sir?"

His eyes drift away from her. He did. He did see them. He had pulled off their scarf, or mask, or hood? And he had seen his face. Hadn't he? He knew he had. He knew he had seen the murderer's face, and he remembered the way dread had washed over him, followed quickly by horror and denial. He knew...

He couldn't remember. He saw them for a second, in a blur of pain, and then he had fallen - or had he been shoved? - and his head had hit something.

"Sir?"

He closes his eyes. He wishes he had stayed dead, for a long moment, and not for the first time. "I saw him," he says. He swallowed, dry and heavy and thick.

"Who was it?" Ellie's out her seat, intense. Alec keeps his eyes closed. His hands shake, and he isn't sure if it's from the heart attack, the head injury, or the sheer amount of hatred and anger for himself that seizes him.

"I can't remember," he mumbles. "I can't remember."

This time, he thinks, it's entirely himself that the blame falls onto for letting another murderer get away. It's entirely his fault.

He can't remember, and he feels sick. 


End file.
